


Behave

by the_ever_rising_sun



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky is a brat, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, References to Spanking, Rimming, Top Steve Rogers, all bucky wanted to do was get down with steve, all steve wanted to do was draw a pretty picture, porn with a little teeny tiny plot, steve and bucky are in love, stevexbucky - Freeform, these two nerds are dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ever_rising_sun/pseuds/the_ever_rising_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Steve wanted to do was draw a picture of Bucky.</p>
<p>Of course that would require patience from his boyfriend, and patience was not one of Bucky's strengths. Seduction, however, most definitely is...</p>
<p>Let the games begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky misbehaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonbinaryjamesbarnes (kittleimp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/gifts).



> This is my first time posting for this fandom! Psyched to be here with you awesome Stucky fans.
> 
> Inspired by my rp with the raddest of the rad Kittleimp <3 |; if you're looking for some kickass fics, go check them out 
> 
> -
> 
> Sidenote; unbeta'd, because as a gift for my killer beta it would kind of trash the surprise if I had them edit it first ;)

* * *

 

“Sit _still_ ,” Steve barks at Bucky as he shifts on the stool for the hundredth time.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Bucky whines in response, squirming even more in his seat. Steve answers with a roll of his eyes and quick shake of his head.

Bucky’s not uncomfortable, actually. He’s sat on this wooden stool from Steve’s kitchen countless times before, chatting as his boyfriend prepared them dinner, drinking a beer, just hanging out… although to be fair in none of the previous scenarios had Bucky been _naked_  on the stool in the middle of Steve’s sun drenched art room. That was a first.

“I wanna draw you,” Steve had muttered in the first light of dawn that day, as they lay tangled together in the sweaty, damp sheets, chests heaving and the whisper of achieved ecstasy in the air. “Pose for me.”

It had seemed like a good idea at the time; Bucky loved being the center of attention as a general rule, and Steve loved to make him so. Then again, Steve could have suggested that they go and jump into a boiling vault of lava at that point, and Bucky probably would have agreed.

 _It really isn’t fair_ , Bucky thinks now with a huff, for Steve to request things in those specific golden moments, when his muscles are loose and aching from the memory of Steve pushing inside him and the taste of his boyfriend is still on his tongue. But he had, and Bucky had agreed, and now- here they are.

 _Ugh_. Bucky rolls his head with an impatient sigh, stretching the neck muscles which are quickly growing unforgivably tight.

“Still,” Steve hisses again, not taking his eyes off the paper in front of him. Bucky rolls his eyes, but settles for the moment. It had been fun at first, listening to the scratch of Steve’s charcoal etching across the paper, admiring the focus and excitement visible on his boyfriend’s face as he created… whatever he was creating on his easel. Bucky wasn’t allowed to look, had earned himself a sharp, _”Don’t even think about it,”_  from Steve when he had begun to stand and move as if he were coming over to peak a few minutes before.

 _How long has it been? Two hours, three?_ Bucky glances surreptitiously at Steve to make sure he’s not being watched, then twists his head quickly to scan the clock on the wall behind him. _Twenty five minutes._ **Twenty five.**  Not even a paltry half hour! Bucky wants to damn well scream.

“Not too much longer, Buck,” Steve murmurs reassuringly from behind his easel, and Bucky snaps his head back towards his boyfriend with jolt of guilt at being caught.

“Really? You’re almost done?” Bucky asks hopefully, raising his eyebrows with a pleading look on his face. Steve leans around the easel to smirk at him.

“Nah, sorry,” he admits with a chuckle, not the tiniest hint of an apology in his voice. “Not even close. Just trying to make you feel better.”

Bucky frowns and glares at him, snorting the air out of his nose like a disgruntled horse who’s being denied extra carrots. 

Well, fine. Steve won’t help Bucky? Bucky won’t help _Steve_. He’ll keep his face fixed in a frown, or he’ll chatter at Steve nonstop, or he’ll… he’ll… _ohhhh_. Bucky smiles to himself. _Yes_ , _perfect_.

Bucky shifts in his stool again, straightening his back and smiling at Steve with a wide, disarming grin the next time his boyfriend glances up. Instead of smiling back, Steve frowns suspiciously.

“What are you doing?” he asks darkly, putting down his charcoal for a second to stare at Bucky distrustfully. 

“Whatcha talking about?” Bucky throws back innocently. _Too_ _innocently_. Steve will catch on to him if he doesn’t tone it down a bit. He stops widening his eyes quite so much. “I’m posing. Isn’t that what you want me to do?”

Steve eyes him for a second longer, eyes narrowed, before humming under his breath and picking up his charcoal again. Bucky bites his lip to stop himself from laughing.

The second Steve’s eyes are back on the paper, Bucky begins. He twists his body slightly towards his boyfriend, spreading his legs just a fraction. The rush of cool air to his sensitive skin causes his dick to give an involuntary twitch, and Bucky smiles in satisfaction. _This is gonna work out just fine._

Steve glances back up at him again a second later, and Bucky freezes just in time.

“Did you move, Buck?” Steve asks uncertainly, eyes darting between his paper and his boyfriend’s still form. Bucky frowns in mock confusion.

“No, Stevie,” he lies easily. “Why, didja want me too?”

“No… no,” Steve answers, a hint of doubt in his voice as he drops his eyes back down to his easel with a resigned shrug. “You’re perfect, just stay… exactly like that…” He’s already resumed his sketching when his voice trails off.

And so it is. Every minute or two, Bucky will shift the tiniest bit. He’ll lean back, pressing his chest forward. He’ll lift his chin, baring the neck he knows his boyfriend loves to suck and bite on. He’ll twist his body in the stool towards Steve a teeny bit more, or, best of all, he’ll inch open his legs little by little, offering his body up towards Steve in the silence of the art room.

Unbelievably, Steve _doesn’t catch on_. He looks up every few seconds to frown suspiciously or cock an eyebrow at his boyfriend, but Bucky will just widen his eyes and smile innocently back at him until Steve involuntarily gives himself a mental and physical shake and refocuses back on the paper in front of him. 

It’s working though. Bucky _knows_ it is. 

The room is so quiet, he can hear the minuscule hitch in Steve’s breathing every time he scans Bucky’s body for clues as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on. He smirks as he registers the way Steve’s chest heaves a little more the further he opens himself up towards his boyfriend. Bucky sees Steve’s pupils begin to widen and darken as time passes, recognizes the uncomfortable little shifts Steve keeps making in his seat, and damn near _groans_  when Steve starts unconsciously biting his fucking lip.

“Buck?” Steve will ask every so often, his voice cracking a little in bewilderment. He sounds completely lost, his poor Stevie, and Bucky doesn’t know whether that makes him want to crow victoriously or drop to his knees and confess his mischief, begging Steve for forgiveness. 

He doesn’t do either.

“Yes, Stevie?” He replies sweetly instead, and Steve will bite his lip again, _Goddamit_ , and drop his eyes with a shake of his head.

“Nothing.”

The problem is, all of Steve’s little tells are having an effect on Bucky, too, and his are more obvious than Steve’s. He has all the more subtle signs of arousal, sure, the tightening of his chest, and the rush of heat through his limbs that make his legs a little weak when Steve stares at him in a mixture of confusion and arousal. Not to mention the fact that he’s sure his blue eyes are nothing more than big, black orbs at this point, as he stares at Steve’s bare chest, the elastic of his boxer shorts cutting into the smooth skin of his abdomen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he works the charcoal over the paper.

Those signs, Bucky can hide. The one he _can’t_  conceal is the hard cock jutting hungrily up between his legs, that had started as a relatively innocent semi hard offering. It is now red and solid and leaking _like fucking crazy_ as Bucky stares at Steve, running his gaze up and down his long, lithe body, quite clearly fucking him with his eyes. 

Steve doesn’t notice, probably because he’s so lost in the _zone._  When he stares at Bucky, trying to translate him on to paper with the blunt piece of charcoal in his hands, all he sees are curves and ridges and shadowing. Bucky watches him not notice, locks his gaze on Steve so intensely he’s surprised the lust and adoration and desperation Bucky is emitting don’t jolt Steve out of his trance all by themselves. What _does_  finally wake him up is his own damn fault, in Bucky’s opinion.

An hour has passed, maybe more, since Bucky began his little campaign of torture and arousal, and somebody’s feeling tortured alright but it’s not Steve. Bucky has finally spread his legs fully, has his hands rested on the stool behind him so his body is thrust forward as he stares at Steve through heavy-lidded eyes, like he is a virgin sacrifice being offered up to his God. _Take me._

Steve glances up when the stool creaks under the weight of Bucky’s new position, and at last his eyebrows drop, his breathing thickens, and he chokes out a throaty “ _Oh_ …” of surprise. Even then though, as Steve stares at him in shock and arousal, Bucky’s not sure Steve really _gets what’s changed._  A second later, though, Steve is bringing his hand up to his mouth, eyes locked on Bucky, chewing on the side of his thumb as he swallows, and swallows, and swallows. 

Bucky fucking _whines_. He doesn’t know why, he’s seen Steve tugging at the skin of his nails a thousand times, it’s a nervous tick he’s had since they were little kids. But _oh_ , sweet Jesus. The way Steve’s lip is nudged out of the way by the intrusion of his thumb, the minuscule flash of tongue Bucky catches as he stares, transfixed, at Steve’s mouth, the straight row of white teeth biting into the soft flesh of his finger as Bucky imagines the teeth nipping and sucking at _him_ … It’s just too much. He whines, and it’s a low, keening sound of desperation and need that clearly goes straight to Steve’s dick as he jolts upright out of his own stool behind the easel.

“Bucky?” He asks again, only this time Steve’s tone is hard and taut. “What the fuck is going on?”

 _Oops_. Steve is cursing. It doesn’t happen often, so when it does, Bucky knows he’s really in trouble. It sends a thrill of anticipation down his spine. He’s been in trouble before, once or twice, and it ended up with him bent over Steve’s knee, ass cheeks turning flushed and rosy as Steve cracked his palm over the sensitive flesh again and again. Bucky always cried out for more. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky retorts defensively, and he’s trying to sound innocent but he’s well aware that the hard, dripping arousal between his legs kind of undermines the overall effect.

“Don’t lie to me, Buck,” Steve demands, and his tone is getting colder as his eyes narrow. He places the charcoal down on the easel. “This is not the position you were in an hour and a half ago.”

“It’s not?” Bucky asks, but his voice is breathy and high, and the colder Steve’s demeanor becomes, the warmer the fire pulsing through Bucky’s body grows. 

“You know damn well it’s not,” Steve hisses, and he’s glowering at Bucky now, arms folded across his chest. “Move back to how you were.”

Bucky just stares at him, wide-eyed and _so fucking turned on._  He’s not trying to be a brat now, he genuinely doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. His eyes drop down to Steve’s boxers and _oh_ _God_  there is a tenting there under the material even stiffer-looking and angrier than Bucky’s own heavy, leaking cock.

“C-can’t…” he whispers hoarsely, and his dick twitches up towards Steve on it’s own accord. _Want_ _you._ “Don’t… remember…”

Steve scowls at him angrily, bringing his charcoal-stained fingers up to his face to rub resignedly across his forehead. They leave streaks of grey across Steve’s pale skin, and damn it all to hell if _that_  doesn’t make Bucky leak several fresh drops of pre-come from the slit at the top of his throbbing head as well.

He begins to tremble as Steve stalks towards him purposefully, Bucky’s mouth dropping open lustily as he licks his lips in anticipation. He wants to cry in relief at Steve’s approach, he’s so worked up. _It’s_ _happening_.

Steve doesn’t meet his eyes. Doesn’t say a word, or interact with him in any way, in fact. Just moves Bucky’s limp, shaking body like a rag doll, twisting him sideways in the stool, bringing his hands around to rest demurely in his lap, titling his chin back down so his neck is no longer stretched bare and exposed, so he is sitting how he was when Steve first positioned him. 

Bucky whimpers at every touch, but now he wants to sob in disappointment. _It’s **not** happening._

Just before Steve turns to return to his easel, he pinches Bucky’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing his lips close so they are a breath away from Bucky’s own. Bucky tries to tilt his head up towards him and capture his lips in a kiss, because if he could just get Steve’s lips against his own he fucking _knows_ he could break him… but no. Steve holds him steady, not a millimeter of give in his grip.

“Behave,” he instructs in a sharp, unyielding voice, and Bucky nods mutely, all aggression flooding out of his body at the familiar tone. He can never resist Steve like this.

“Yes, Stevie,” he whispers submissively, and for a second there is a flash of something in Steve’s eyes that has Bucky wanting to preen in satisfaction, because he’s _done_ _it_ , he thinks he’s _broken_ _Steve_ , _thank_ _God_ … but then, no. Steve is nodding stiffly and the shutters are dropping down over his eyes as he releases Bucky’s chin and heads back to his easel.

 _Fuck_.

 


	2. Bucky gets his way

A solid fifteen minutes passes where Bucky is actually _good_.

He holds his position, as instructed. Presses his legs together, hands folded across his lap as he keeps his eyes fixed on Steve. Stays obediently quiet, even, or at least keeps his frantic dialogue locked in his own head. What he _doesn’t_  do is lose the erection throbbing between his legs. There’s not a hint of softening, as his cock continues to jut and weep and beg silently for attention as Bucky sits there, still and silent as a statue, staring at an equally silent Steve as he scratches away at the paper.

A warm gust of wind blows through the open window, blowing a dust bunny across the sun streaked wooden floor, and Bucky involuntarily glances towards it.

“I… said… still,” Steve barks immediately, and Bucky twists his head quickly to stare at his boyfriend. _That’s not fair_ , he wants to whine, _I’m being good_.

But he doesn’t say anything, because his mind is busy processing the fact that Steve’s voice didn’t sound angry, it sounded _pained_. Frustrated, aroused, and desperate, in fact, and Bucky starts to think that maybe his boyfriend isn’t as immune to the whole situation as he is trying to convey. Excitement sparks through Bucky’s veins again, and he narrows his eyes.

“I _am_  sitting still,” Bucky protests softly, looking up at Steve through his lashes. “I’m being _good_.”

Steve snorts in amusement and grips the edge of the easel as he peers around it to look at Bucky.

“This is you being good?” He asks sardonically, “Then I’d hate to see you being bad, Buck.”

Steve knows he’s said the wrong thing the second he finishes talking. Bucky can tell, because he watches the bobbing of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, registers the swift flick of Steve’s eyes down to Bucky’s cock. Bucky begins to tremble again as he replies.

“I don’t think you’d hate it,” Bucky murmurs quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady, “but maybe if I told you a little about what it would entail you could make a better judgement.”

Steve starts to nod, leaning forward in his stool unconsciously. But then another gust of wind flows through the window, and Steve’s nod turns into a shake of denial. “No, don’t… don’t do that,” he chokes out in a desperate whisper, as he blinks frantically, trying to clear the cloudy haze. There’s no conviction in his tone, and Bucky’s only response is the slight quirk of his lips.

“You can stop me anytime, Stevie,” he hums reassuringly, “but it’s so quiet in here, I’m just going to break up the silence a little, okay doll? You can keep drawing. Nothing wrong with that.”

“N-nothing,” Steve echoes automatically in agreement, and Bucky has to bite his lip to hold back the smirk on his face because now, _now_ , he has Steve on the ropes, and he damn well knows it.

”If I _was_  being bad, which I’m not...” Bucky pauses here and looks at Steve expectantly. _C’mon Stevie, play the game_.

“You’re not,” Steve parrots back obediently, and he’s standing now, gripping the edges of the easel so tightly his knuckles are turning white. Bucky nods in acknowledgment.

“But if I _was_ , I wouldn’t still be sitting in this stool, Stevie. I want you so bad, you can see that, right?” Bucky opens his legs and gesture down to his thick, pulsing arousal. Steve nods dumbly, eyes locking on the glistening drop of pre-come at the head of Bucky’s cock. “Exactly, that’s how much I want you, but still I’m being _good_ , because if I wasn’t Stevie, know what I would do?” Steve jerks his head back and forth, and his breath is coming in short, hard little bursts as his eyes plead ' _tell_ _me_.'

“I would drop to my knees and crawl over to you and beg you to suck my cock,” Bucky continues in a low voice. “And if you wouldn’t take care’o me, I’d beg to suck _your_ pretty cock, Stevie. I’d open my lips and suck you down so hard and fast it’d make your knees weak.” Bucky reaches down and begins stroking himself, spreading the glistening pre-come all over his shaft until his entire dick is hard and slick with his own arousal. Steve stares at him, transfixed, opens his mouth to tell Bucky again to _”Stay still, for Godsakes,”_  but those are not the words that leave his throat.

“Then… what…” he croaks out instead, licking his lips as he watches Bucky.

“Then I’d start playing with myself, Stevie, pushing a finger inside’o me, right down to the second knuckle, getting myself ready for you,” Bucky says, and he pushes himself half off the stool, reaching back to begin rubbing a finger lightly over his hole. Steve gulps thickly, and it’s audible in the silent room. “I’d need the lube, though,” he adds, almost reluctantly, eyes flicking to the white tube lying next to Steve’s workbench. They have supplies stashed all over the apartment, not that they’ve ever used this one before. Steve reaches down to clutch it in his hand instinctively.

“Thank you,” Bucky murmurs, keeping their eyes locked. “It’s important, see, so when I open myself up that finger is nice and slick…”

“…J-just…one finger?” Steve asks shakily. He takes a step closer to the stool, wincing as he moves. Bucky can see why, as he registers with pleasure the damp patch forming on Steve’s cotton boxers. His cock must be _drooling_ to produce that large a mark, and the friction of the material against the swollen tip of his boyfriend’s cock must be torture. _Good_.

Bucky doesn’t answer at first, just watches Steve with heavy lidded eyes as he strokes his slippery cock where it lies heavily between his thighs. Then he slides fully off the stool, and Steve tenses, ready to ward off his approach.

 _Don’t worry, Stevie_ , Bucky tells him with a lazy smirk and a twinkle in his blackened eyes. _I’m not coming for you. There’s no need. You’ll be coming for me soon enough_.

He turns his back to Steve, and looks at him over his shoulder as he reaches down to his ass, spreading his cheeks openly with one hand so Steve has full view as he begins teasing lightly at his puckered hole with his fingers on the other.

“One, at first,” Bucky breathes thickly, and he bends a little more over the stool so he’s practically _presenting_  himself to Steve. “You know how tight I am Stevie, wouldn’t want to hurt myself, would I?”

“N-no,” Steve stammers in reply, his eyes fixed on the puckered, pink opening where Bucky is spreading the glistening pre-come he gathered from his cock. “Definitely… no… gotta be c-careful…”

“I’m not sure I’m doing it right, though,” Bucky lies innocently, pushing the tip of his index finger into the tight ring of muscles. It’s a blatant lie that he knows Steve sees straight through the second he’s done talking. He’s barely breeching himself and Bucky’s legs are shaking with arousal, his hole trying to suck the digit further in as Steve watches him. “Maybe you could hel-“

“No,” Steve interrupts suddenly, his voice hardening. “I-I’m drawing, I’m drawing you and you’re misbehaving. You need-“

“No,” Bucky retorts just as quickly. Steve’s beginning to back away from him, his eyes clearing, and worst ( _best_ ) of all, that firm, dominant tone is returning. If Steve slips fully into his role as dom, Bucky will have no choice but to submit. He’s hardwired to obey Steve’s commands, his desires, and he loves it… usually. _But not today_. If Steve orders him back into position again, Bucky knows he will have lost this battle for good, and _good God_  he needs to be fucked now or he’ll lose it. He’s never felt this desperate before, every inch of him aching for Steve’s touch.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he continues swiftly, his voice lifting in innocent apology. Steve’s stare softens slightly but he still eyes Bucky with wary reserve. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. I’m not being good for you, and I want to so badly. It’s just, I think I moved too quickly… pushed too hard… I hurt myself…”

“What?” Steve flicks his head up so quickly at his final words, that Bucky twists his body in response and stumbles backwards in surprise. Steve is by his side in a second, reaching out automatically for Bucky’s hips and spinning him around so they’re standing face to face, inches apart. Bucky tilts his hips forward so his cock brushes teasingly against Steve’s through the thin material. Steve hisses out a breath, but stays focused. “You hurt yourself. Where?”

Bucky licks his lips and thrusts forward again, as he looks up at Steve through fluttering eyelashes. _God, he’s a brat_.

“Down… there…” Bucky whispers hesitantly, and then Steve is spinning him around again, pushing him down so he is bent over the stool, ass in the air, as Steve kneels behind him and spreads him open.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Early Morning Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001261) by [nonbinaryjamesbarnes (kittleimp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/nonbinaryjamesbarnes)
  * [In the Early Morning Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001357) by [nonbinaryjamesbarnes (kittleimp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/nonbinaryjamesbarnes)




End file.
